Revenge is a Dish Best Served Cold
by Camystratton
Summary: Someone is mortally offended at a few comments and plots revenge.


Revenge is a Dish Best Served Cold By Amy K. Stratton  
  
Part I: The Insult  
  
I was calmly sitting at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, eating my breakfast and minding my own business, when I heard a disgusted, "Ugh! What is that thing doing on the table?" I craned my head away from the delicious piece of bacon I had been munching and looked at the source of the comment. It was that Slytherin boy. What's-his-face. Drake Something. "Don't you know they carry disease? Why do you let it near your food?" He was pointing at me. I looked down at myself. What? Me? He was still ranting. "Just look at it. Beady black eyes. Dirty little thing." He shuddered. That's it. He's gone too far. I looked down at myself. I was certainly not dirty. Just to make sure I didn't have any bacon on my face, however, I licked my hands and scrubbed them over my face. There. As clean as my mother ever made me. And I resented the disease comment anyway. I may be a rat, but I'm certainly not one of those disgusting rattus rattus types. No, I was a perfectly dainty little rattus norvegicus. The Norway Rat. My ancestors did not carry plague, or bite babies, or live in sewers, or any of the things those far-distant cousins did. No, we lived in fields and ate grain. Well, maybe we stole a little from a farmer's silo from time to time, but we were never the vermin that the black rats were. Not that I'm not black, mind you, but that's just my fur color. Besides, I'm not all black. I have a perfectly white underbelly, conforming to what the breed standard calls Berkshire markings. I could have been a show rat, but I'm perfectly happy being what I am, my person's helper. But, back to the jerk. He was making a lunge at me, so my person scooped me up and put me in her shirt pocket. I squeaked out a protest, "Hey! My breakfast!" but she put my piece of bacon and a crust of toast in the pocket with me. That's the kind of thoughtful person she is. Once I had finished eating, I curled up to sleep and dream of getting my revenge.  
  
Part II: Plotting in the Dark  
  
I waited until almost all of the humans had gone to bed, then sneaked out of the Gryffindor area as a student came in the door. Normally, I prefer to do my travelling through the walls, but the student living areas are tight as a drum. Once in the main halls, I did take to the walls through a crack in a floorboard. It's much easier to get around the huge castle when you're small enough to get through the tight spots. I had made my way down to the Slytherin doorway, and was waiting for a student to come open the door when I smelled something. Whiskers twitching, I rose up on my back paws to test the air. It smelled like a predator. Around the corner came Mrs. Norris, the caretaker's cat. Now, I knew that I could handle Mrs. Norris. I've bitten her more times than I can remember. This time, however, I did not have to fight her. Just as she finished coming around the corner and spotted me, she flew forward as someone kicked her from behind. I laughed at her in my silent ratty way. The foot that had sent the cat on her way belonged to none other than my victim. What could be better? I followed him in and, keeping to the shadows, trailed him all the way to his bed. Once he was snoring, I got to work.  
  
Part II: Vengeance is Mine, Sayeth the Rat  
  
I was just cleaning the last of the ink off my paws when I heard the sounds of boys rousing and getting ready for the day. I slipped out with the first of them and got back to my person just as she was stripping the sheets off her bed looking for me. "There you are!" she cried, scooping me up and placing me on her shoulder for the ride down to breakfast. I saw the first of my plots pay off as I watched the nasty boy enter the Great Hall in what appeared to be a garment made of black swiss cheese. Other students sniggered and pointed fingers at him, as he turned red and stormed off to his table. As he turned, I could see the large happy-face shaped hole that I had chewed in the back of the robes. It was perfect. I had completely destroyed or hid his other robes, so he was forced to wear this one until he could buy some more. I daintily washed my ears. He could afford it. And he deserved it. For the next prank, I had to slip away from my person during her next class, since he was not in it. I found his classroom and peeked in just as they were handing in their homework to Professor McGonagall. She raised her eyebrow at the boy, but didn't make a comment at the state of his robes. It wasn't until a few minutes later, when the students were copying notes off the blackboard and the teacher was flipping through the homework that she stopped, blinked, and turned a violent shade of scarlet. "Mr. Malfoy! Up here, right now!" I watched as the baffled boy stepped up to the desk. I couldn't quite hear what she was quietly saying to him, but it had to have been good. His face turned whiter than any of the ghosts I had seen around the castle. He looked like he was going to die as he sat back down at his place. I wasn't surprised, since I had replaced his homework assignment into an essay discussing scandalous and invented gossip about all of the Hogwarts professors. I went back to my person and curled up in her book bag to wait until after lunch. She had Potions at the same time he did, so I wouldn't have to sneak away to observe my next trick. The class was working on making hair-removal potion, for unsightly body hair, and they were to try it on themselves at the end of class, just a little, to make a small patch of hair on their forearms fall out. It wasn't supposed to be long-term; the hair would grow back. Well, I suppose that all fine and well for humans, but I happen to think that people are more attractive with a coat of fur. Look at me. I have a beautiful black coat that I keep shining and glossy. It keeps me warm in the winter and helps me cool off in the summer. Why humans don't have fur, I'll never understand. So, I decided that by the end of the class, one person would. I had switched around the labels on the boy's potion ingredients so that when they all sampled, instead of a small patch of hair falling out, he began to grow hair. Lots of hair. Long, blonde hair all over his body. By the time he was finished, he looked like an upright shag rug, running around, screaming for help. By the time the professor got him cornered and calmed down, they had to trim away some of the hair just to find his mouth to give him the antidote. And, as punishment for getting his potion so wrong, the boy had to sweep up the huge pile of hair he had just shed. As the students sat around the dinner table that night, discussing Mr. Malfoy's unfortunate day, I sat there nibbling on a slice of carrot and reflecting. He'd certainly gotten his. I hoped he'd learned his lesson. He probably thought that his day couldn't get any worse. He was wrong. I imagined the look on his face when his girlfriend opened the box of chocolates he had gotten her to find all the fillings gone and replaced with, well, recycled filling. After I had cycled it through my digestive tract, that is. Hell hath no fury like a rat scorned. 


End file.
